A Boy And His Dog
by Elf Eye
Summary: Adventures of Estel and Gwaurant
1. Dog Or Wolf?

**Folks, the first three chapters of this story have been pulled out from _Returning From The Dead.  _**_Gil-neth_ **had suggested that the sections on Estel interrupted the flow of that story, and I think that is a valid point.**

**The fourth chapter will be a new one.  After I'm sure all four chapters are up and running in this new story, I'll delete the Estel chapters from their original location.**

Estel was moping about the garden. No ElladanElrohir'n'Anomen—um, Legolas, that is. Worse, Elladan'n'Elrohir would be returning, but Estel knew that Legolas would not—at least not for a very long while.

"Eventually he will return to spend time with us in Imladris," Elrond had explained, "but I do not think he will ever again dwell here permanently. But you will see him when he visits, and you may yourself travel to Mirkwood when you are older or encounter him in Lothlórien. Mayhap someday you will journey elsewhere in his company. Who can tell?"

But 'mayhap' and 'someday' were small consolation to the boy. Today the absence of his friend was particularly bitter because it seemed as if he had been abandoned by everyone else as well. Elrond had been closeted with Glorfindel all day, poring over reports that had been brought by a messenger from Thoron's patrol on the border between Eregion and Dunland. The Cook was in an ill-temper because one of his apprentices had purchased several baskets of apples that proved to be mealy and worm-ridden. He was in no mood to countenance any mischief on Estel's part. The Armorer likewise was in a foul mood because one of his apprentices had mixed up a batch of bad glue and the fletching was peeling from the arrows that he had lately prepared.

The only person who seemed willing to pay attention to Estel was Erestor. Ai! Erestor! Why did it have to be Erestor!? The tutor had lately grown insistent that Estel memorize every last detail of the history and geography of Gondor. "This is important," Erestor insisted, "and I assure you that you will someday return and thank me for making you do this!"

Estel could not quite see how the history of that far-off land would be of importance to him, but he had matured enough to understand that it was sometimes necessary to trust his elders even if their purposes were not clear. Thus it must be said that he did work hard at mastering the lists of kings and battles. From time to time he also recalled that Legolas had once hinted to him that Elrond would someday tell him something important about his heritage. The emphasis Erestor was placing upon Gondor made him wonder if that kingdom would figure in the tale.

At the moment, however, such thoughts were far from the youth's mind, for he had just escaped from the library and had no mind to dwell further upon either history or geography. His lesson that day had been unusually long, for Erestor had decreed that, as Glorfindel would not be giving Estel archery and sword training that day, the time normally allotted for those activities ought to be devoted to more learnéd pursuits.

Normally Estel's spirits would have soared as soon as he entered the garden, but today they plummeted further when it became apparent that even his dog Gwaurant was going to ignore him. The last few nights, at the first sound of distant wolf howls Gwaurant would become agitated, and there was nothing for it but to let him out, whether from his pen or from Estel's room. Gwaurant would promptly vanish, apparently to join one of the wolf packs thereabouts. When the sun arose, he would come crawling back into Rivendell, his fur disheveled, his tongue lolling. Evidently exhausted, he would lap up some water and then stretch out in a sunny corner of the garden and sleep the day away.

"He comes back each morning all played out," complained an aggrieved Estel one morning at the breakfast table.

"Oh, yes," smirked Glorfindel, "all played out indeed!"

"Glorfindel," warned Elrond. "It is enough that the twins have that on their mind right now. You don't have to encourage Estel, too."

"No? You don't think so?" Glorfindel turned to Erestor. "Of course, Elrond is right. I really shouldn't say anything because I am sure that _you_ will want to cover the topic, isn't that so, Erestor?"

Erestor glared at him. Nonplussed, Estel had looked back and forth between the two Elves, one glowering, one grinning, and wondered what it was that had just transpired.

But that was neither here nor there. Right now Estel wanted someone to romp with, and his dog was not up to the task. But someone else came into the garden just at that moment, and Estel momentarily brightened. Then he saw that it was Celaimîr, and he lost interest. Granted, Celaimîr was always very kind to him, but she wasn't interested in any of the things that captivated his fancy, to whit, riding, shooting, or parrying sword thrusts. Anyway, she was in a hurry, hastening toward the back of the garden, into a copse. Estel threw himself down beside Gwaurant and gazed reproachfully at the dozing dog.

Someone else entered the garden, and Estel sat up hopefully. Ah, Baramagor! Estel sprang to his feet with a shout and ran toward the scout. Baramagor, however, brushed him aside.

"Not now, Estel. I've somewhat to do."

Onward Baramagor hastened. He headed for the back of the garden and the selfsame copse that Celaimîr had but recently entered, and the scout vanished from view. Disconsolate, Estel plopped back down upon the grass, but then an idea occurred to him.

"I'll practice my tracking," he said to himself. "Surely I wouldn't be in Baramagor's way if I did that, for I'd only be trailing him and not interfering in any way."

He leaped to his feet and made for the spot where Baramagor had disappeared into the stand of trees. He found his trail and eagerly followed it, but it soon came to an end at the base of a tree. Estel was disappointed but also a little hurt. Baramagor hadn't presented him with much of challenge, and his "somewhat to do" turned out to be merely the desire to perch in a tree. The boy was about to turn away in disgust when he heard someone above him giggle in a voice pitched higher than Baramagor's. There was an answering giggle, pitched lower. Estel looked more carefully at the base of the tree and was chagrined to see that he had not been very observant**:** there were in fact two sets of footsteps that led to that tree. So Celaimîr was perched above as well. The branches above Estel's head shook slightly. More giggles. Estel was indignant. So Baramagor wouldn't play with him, but he would play with _her_!

Just then one of Baramagor's boots dropped from the tree, landing at Estel's feet. It was followed in short order by a second boot. Next Celaimîr's soft leather buskins fell to the ground. Hard on their heels, so to speak, came Celaimîr's kirtle and gown, and Baramagor's tunic, jerkin, and leggings followed in due course. Soon it was plain from the pile of garments upon the ground that neither Baramagor nor Celaimîr was encumbered by a stitch of clothing. Estel was furious. They meant to go swimming, and he hadn't been invited. He felt more than a little slighted.

"So you are going to make your way to one of the ponds," he thought. "Very well, then! Go ahead. I'll just take these clothes for safeguarding. Wouldn't do to leave them about, now, would it!?"

With that, he gathered up all the garments and stole away. He knew just the place for them, he thought. At one spot in the garden there was a hole that had been dug by a badger. It was said that this was the son of the son of the son of the son of a badger that had once dug a hole that Legolas had become trapped in as an elfling. Every year one of this long line of badgers appeared in the garden to excavate a den. Every year the Gardener chased it out of the garden and filled in the hole. The next year a badger—the same or its descendant—would show up and re-dig the tunnel. The Gardener would chase it away. The next year the whole process would start over again. The Gardener had but lately chased away the latest badger, but he had not yet filled in the hole. This would be a perfect place to stash Celaimîr and Baramagor's clothes.

After pushing the garments as far down the tunnel as he could reach, Estel left the garden in search of further amusement. He of course immediately forgot about the clothes or the Elves who had been wearing them. Gwaurant stayed behind, still slumbering in the sun. At length, however, the dog arose and stretched. Then he began to pad about the garden, snuffling as he went. The dog had recently become quite interested in the badger hole—in fact, it was his barking at the entrance to the den that had alerted the Gardener to the return of the creature—and so that was one place that he was certain to investigate. As he drew near, he smelled the scent of badger that still hung in the air. He also caught a whiff of Estel at the opening to the tunnel. Finally, he sensed the odor of Celaimîr and Baramagor, which grew stronger the further he wiggled into the den. At last he reached the bundle of clothes. Seizing it in his jaws, he squirmed back out again. Good. Something to gnaw. He shredded the clothes in short order, and also made quick work of the buskins. Then he settled down to chew on Baramagor's boots, whose toughness made them a much more satisfying object. They would be good for hours of entertainment.

Several hours later, after Gwaurant had reduced the boots to soggy pulp, he arose, stretched and yawned, and trotted out of the garden and through the gates of Rivendell. He made his way across the bridge that spanned the Bruinen as it flowed through the valley and disappeared into the woods beyond. The sun was westering, and he was eager to rejoin his pack so that he might while away the night romping and baying at the moon.

At about the same time, Celaimîr and Baramagor had at last wearied of their pastime and decided to climb down from the tree and return to the Hall. Down they scrambled and, then, puzzled, they looked about.

"I thought we had just dropped our garments, not tossed them in any particular direction," said Celaimîr. "Shouldn't they have fallen straight down and ended up at the base of the tree?"

"That is what usually happens," agreed Baramathor, equally bewildered. "Wait a minute!"

He stooped down and examined the ground closely. Then he groaned.

"Estel has been here."

"Estel!"

"Aye, and that would explain why our clothes have vanished. Wait till I get my hands on that little human! I'll Orc-tie him, I swear!"

"But what are we to do in the meantime?"

"Well, we can't very well go strolling back to the Hall, can we? We shall have to wait until nightfall. Then I could climb in at a window and toss some clothes out for you."

           "I suppose there is nothing else to be done," sighed Celaimîr. 

Then she suddenly smiled.

"We had better resume our former positions—in the tree, that is!"

Baramagor cheered up.

"You are right, of course. It is better to be up than down—um, up in the tree, I mean!" 

Being in agreement on the importance of being up, the two scrambled back into the tree and settled themselves into their former positions in the crotch—of the tree, of course.

Back at the Hall, the Elves were assembling for the evening meal. Baramagor did not join his patrol at their table, but no one made much of that fact. It was not positively required that he eat each meal with his comrades when they were resting between patrols. Nor was the Armorer troubled when he did not see his daughter among the ellith. She was old enough to dine privately with a few of the other maidens if she so chose, and he did not expect her to ask his leave beforehand.

It was not until later, when the Armorer went to bid her good-night, that he realized that she was unaccounted for. He stopped at the chamber that she shared with a few ellith of roughly the same age, and they told her that she had not been seen since shortly after the noon meal.

"I am certain that she left the Hall," said one. Everyone agreed, and some added that she had gone alone. Everyone likewise agreed that no one had seen her return. The Armorer hastened to the Door Warden, who made inquiries of his underlings, and the maidens proved to have been correct. Celaimîr had left the Hall by herself but had never returned. It was now several hours past sunset and quite dark. The Armorer hurried to Elrond's chamber. Just as he arrived, several members of Baramagor's patrol strode up. They were setting out on the morrow, and he had not attended the gathering that was traditionally held the night before a patrol went out (supposedly so that the patrol leader could review their orders, although other events sometimes transpired). As Baramagor _was_ this patrol's leader, his unexplained absence certainly merited some concern.

Two unaccounted for, and at night. Elrond agreed that this was worrisome, and he immediately ordered that everyone available commence a search of Rivendell and its environs. Even the Gardener took part, hastening to the grounds that he tended, which of course he knew better than anyone. It was not too long before that worthy horticulturist came upon the remnants of elven garments, those of both an Elf and an Elleth. Aghast, the Gardener gathered them up and ran straight to Elrond's chamber, shouting his fears as he ran to all the Elves he encountered. He scarcely waited for Elrond to say 'Enter' before he burst into the room. 

"My Lord," he gasped, "I found these in the garden. I saw the tracks of only one beast, so Gwaurant must be responsible!"

Celaimîr's father began to keen in grief, but Elrond bade him be still.

"Have you not observed," Elrond asked him, "that there is not a single speck of blood upon these garments?"

The Armorer was bewildered.

"What are you saying, my Lord?"

"I am saying," said Elrond, "that Celaimîr and Baramagor were very unlikely to have been wearing these clothes when the garments were being chewed upon."

The Armorer looked relieved for a moment. Then the full significance of what Elrond was saying sank in, and his face turned a shade of red not usually seen in an elven complexion.

"Now, now," Glorfindel tried to soothe him. "What can you expect? They are, after all, both of them a full millennium in age. Why, if you will think back to your own youth—"

The Armorer turned even redder, if that were possible.

"Hush!" hissed Erestor. "I do not think encouraging him to think of what _he_ was doing at their age is a very good idea at the moment."

Elrond hastened to turn the conversation.

"We still need to find Baramagor and Celaimîr. I do not think they will have gone far."

"I suggest," said Erestor, "that we do not in fact try to find them at all. Call in all the searchers, and place a number of garments about the garden—but in the bushes and the trees, not on the ground where they can be chewed! After the hubbub has died down and the garden is dark and quiet, I am sure that our missing Elves will clad themselves appropriately and reappear in a dignified state."

"That is an excellent plan," agreed Elrond, and he asked Glorfindel to see that it was carried out. 

Elves of course move very quietly. Even so, living at Rivendell, Estel had developed hearing that, while not as acute as an Elf's, was better than that of most Men. So it was that the search for Baramagor and Celaimîr had generated enough bustle to awaken him. Looking out the window, he had seen Elves with torches moving throughout the grounds, and he had observed the Gardener hastening toward the Hall with shredded garments in hand. He remembered then that he had seen neither Baramagor nor Celaimîr at supper that night. Feeling both guilty and frightened, he pulled on his own clothes, meaning to join in the search. As he slipped outside, however, he overheard some Elves talking about Gwaurant. Word had not yet gotten around that no Elves had been in the garments when the dog had chewed upon them.

"Lord Elrond will have to have that beast destroyed!" declared one Elf.

"Aye," said another. "For all the little human loves it, it has proved to be a wolf in the end!"

Terrified, Estel ran to Gwaurant's pen, but of course the dog had not yet returned from the forest. The boy heard the distant howls of wolves, and he knew that his pet must be out frolicking with the pack.

"I must find him!" he thought to himself. "I must find him, and we must run away together!"

Estel slipped at once into the kitchen, which was quite empty as all had joined in the search for the missing Elves. He seized a sack and hastily threw into it everything edible within reach, and then he hastened as quickly as he could away from the Hall, rejoicing at the fact that he encountered no Elves with torches as he did so. Ai! If only he had realized that they had been recalled because Celaimîr and Baramagor were believed to be safe! Fortune was surely not in his favor this night.


	2. A Bush Bears Fruit

Erestor had been right. Soon after the searchers had been called in, two very well-dressed but subdued young Elves, their eyes downcast, crept in past a Door Warden who pretended not to see them as they passed. Celaimîr hastened to the chamber she shared with her friends, who waited in anticipation of a night during which no one would sleep, for they all meant to sit up talking giddily until dawn. Celaimîr was not happy about this, but there was nothing for it. The alternative was to spend the night in her childhood room, which was annexed to her father's chamber. She did not think this would be wise. As for Baramagor, he retrieved his bedroll and then went out again, for he had resolved to sleep in the hayloft of the stable. He had been sharing a room with Celaimîr's brother Celaithand, and he had no wish to encounter him just then.

Before dawn the next morning, Elrond sent servants to roust all the members of the patrol for an unusually early departure, for he thought it might be good if Baramagor and his scouts were out of Rivendell before the Armorer arose. Thus they rode quietly through the gate before the sun had even arisen, each carrying an allowance of food so that they might break fast as they journeyed.

Elrond himself went to the dining hall to break fast at the customary hour, and he noticed immediately that Estel was not in his place. When the boy had still not appeared by the end of the meal, Elrond became alarmed. Unlike Legolas, Estel was not one to forgo a meal. When Legolas was young, he would sometimes avoid the dining hall in favor of purloining something from the kitchen. Estel was not above stealing food, but he would still show up at the table. For him, pilfered food was an adjunct to a meal and not a substitute.

"Glorfindel, have you seen Estel at all this morning?"

"No, Elrond."

"Erestor?"

The tutor shook his head. Elrond sent a servant to Estel's room. The boy was not there, and the Gardener reported that Gwaurant had not returned to his pen that morning.

"I think, Elrond," opined Glorfindel, "that Estel took fright last night and ran off with Gwaurant."

Gloomily, Elrond had to agree.

"And we have just sent one band of scouts out on patrol," he lamented, "whilst many others are away escorting Legolas. Glorfindel, assemble any that remain who may be pressed into a search."

"I want to be included in their number," declared Erestor.

"Erestor," said Elrond, "that will not be necessary."

"I insist," exclaimed the tutor. "That dog saved my life, and I am not about to let anything happen to him. Also," he added with seeming nonchalance, "I should not like to lose my pupil, for then I would have nothing to do."

Elrond hid his smile. As for Glorfindel, he tactfully suggested that Erestor accompany him.

"With our combined eyesight, surely we will overlook no possible sign of the passing of the fugitives."

In short order, as many scouts as could be found were riding out. Once past the gate, they split up to look for traces of boy and dog, Erestor and Glorfindel riding side by side. They were the ones who did indeed happen upon the trail of the runaways, and it must be noted that they spotted it simultaneously, much to the pride of Erestor. Eagerly, they turned their horses' heads and began to follow the footprints of the boy and the paw prints of the dog.

Soon, however, the tracks of boy and dog were overtaken and lost within the tracks of a wolf pack. Was the pack stalking or accompanying the runaways? Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged anxious glances and urged their horses to quicken their pace. On they rode for miles. It seemed that the wolves were trotting steadily and making no attempt at stealth. After awhile Glorfindel voiced a hopeful thought.

"I think, my friend, that these wolves, had they meant ill, would long ago have attempted to pull down Estel and Gwaurant. Instead, they seem to be escorting the runaways."

In this Glorfindel was correct. The previous night, Estel had made his way unerringly toward the sound of his dog, being able to pick out his howls from amongst those of all the wolves that were out baying. When Estel at length found him, Gwaurant left off romping with his age mates and leaped joyfully upon the boy, placing his front paws on his chest and licking his face. The wolves drew near and sniffed cautiously at this new member of the pack. Perhaps there is something to be said for not bathing overmuch, for surely the wolves found Estel's odor to be quite acceptable, and so, as Estel and Gwaurant moved off, the wolves fell in on all sides. Thus it was that the tracks of boy and dog came to be overlaid by those of wolves.

Estel was not slow to realize that he could make use of the wolves to confound any potential pursuers. He had often seen Legolas solicit the help of woodland creatures, and he thought he would try that tactic himself. As he walked he gravely explained his plan to Gwaurant, hoping that the dog would be able to convey his thoughts to his wolf companions. Apparently he could, for the wolves soon split into two. One group immediately headed west. The members of the other group patiently sat upon their haunches, waiting while Estel followed for a time the group heading westward. When the boy judged that he had gone far enough, he carefully returned to the waiting pack, walking backwards, placing his feet in the tracks he had previously laid. Once he had regained the group of remaining wolves, he headed south, careful now to stay in the middle of the pack so that his tracks were obliterated.

Not too long afterward, Erestor and Glorfindel reached the point at which the wolf pack had divided into two. Both Erestor and Glorfindel saw that wolf tracks now led in two directions, some to the west and others to the south, but only Glorfindel noticed that Estel's tracks appeared amongst the westward band. He did not point this out to Erestor, and when that Elf opined that they would have to split up, the balrog-slayer pretended to be indecisive as to which way he should prefer to go.

"It is impossible to say which way they have gone, Erestor. He is as likely to have gone one way as another. What do you think?"

Erestor remembered that Legolas had generally headed south when he ran away from Rivendell, but he did not want to point that out to Glorfindel.

"Perhaps, Glorfindel, Estel has a mind to visit the Men in Bree." Added Erestor craftily, "I but lately showed him that land upon a map, and he expressed considerable interest."

"Bree, you think, Erestor? Nay, I think not. Dunland is closer. That is where he would make for. I shall go that way. Your pardon, Erestor, but I am the better tracker, so I should pursue the likeliest route. You go west."

Erestor was indignant, as Glorfindel had hoped that he would be, but he was not angry for the reasons that Glorfindel assumed. He feared that he had failed to trick Glorfindel into going west, not realizing that Glorfindel in fact desired to go that way. Be that as it may, Erestor was now insistent that, his honor having been impugned, he be the one to go south—as Glorfindel had hoped he would. After making a show of arguing the point, Glorfindel at last yielded with every appearance of reluctance. Both had gotten what they wanted, and each thought he had manipulated the other. They parted both of them cheerful and satisfied, although each took care to disguise that fact.

Glorfindel had not gone far before Estel's tracks disappeared, but this did not trouble him. Estel's footprints had been overlaid by paw prints for most of the way, and he assumed that it had been mere good luck that they had been visible for a time. He had not expected that he would see them for long, and he never suspected that he was the victim of a ruse that had been carried out by a boy of ten.

Meanwhile, the object of his search was making his way steadily southward, every step he took taking him closer to Dunland. By now Estel and Gwaurant had parted from their escort of wolves, and Estel knew that the further south he went, the greater the likelihood that he would encounter danger, either in the form of Orcs, hostile Dunlendings, or the occasional Southron spy. He had come away so hastily that he had not thought to gather his weapons, and so he was armed with only the knife that all residents of Rivendell carried as a matter of course. Estel was not so foolish as to think that he could continue his journey for any length of time so equipped. But what to do?

"Once I cross into Dunland," Estel thought, "I shall have to steal a weapon from one of the settlements therebouts."

Estel was of course quite accomplished at filching treats from the kitchen, but even so he was caught upon occasion. Capture in that case meant an afternoon of skivvy duty—scouring pots or peeling potatoes. But he knew that if he were caught stealing a weapon from a Dunland village, the penalty would be much worse—a lifetime of skivvy duty as a Haradrim slave, and that if he were lucky! Yet he did not see any alternative. As he crossed the border into Dunland, he thus began to keep a lookout for any signs of settlement. After awhile he saw smoke spiraling into the sky. Urging Gwaurant to be silent, he crept carefully in the direction whence it came. At last he spied a house through the trees and drew as near as he could without breaking cover.

It was rather a large structure for a Dunland house. At one end was a ramshackle shed that had clearly seen many years. Built onto it, however, was a long hall in good repair, its timber not darkened by age, its thatch not discolored by sun or rain. In the foreyard played several children, all well fed and well clad, and on a bench against a wall, shaded by the overhanging thatch, sat a plump woman nursing alert and healthy twins, one a girl, the other a boy, judging from their garments. A man and a youth on the verge of manhood came into the yard from time to time. They carried baskets into the shed, came out again, and disappeared, returning in a while with yet more fruit-laden baskets. After a time the man came back alone. He went into the shed but did not reappear. No doubt he was sorting and organizing the fruit.

Judging from the prosperous appearance of the house and it inhabitants, Estel believed it not unlikely that a weapon or two was kept somewhere upon the premises. He would have to wait for nightfall, of course, before making his move, so he settled back upon his heels, amusing himself by studying the scene before him.

"'Tis a pretty sight, is it not?" said a quiet voice near at hand.

Startled, Estel leaped to his feet and spun around. There stood the youth who had but lately been carrying baskets of fruit into the shed.

"I am sorry," said the Dunland youth. "I did not mean to startle you, but I did not want to show myself until I could see that you were unarmed."

"I am not unarmed," said Estel stoutly, drawing his blade from his belt. "I have a knife. And I have this dog."

Suddenly, to his embarrassment and chagrin, Estel realized that Gwaurant was wagging his tail.

The youth gazed at Estel's knife and then studied his face.

"But you do not want to use your knife," he said calmly.

Estel began to tremble. It was true that he did not want to use his blade, but he also did not want to be taken.

"What is your name?" asked the youth.

Estel considered. He was afraid to use his elvish name, for he knew that there had been bad blood between the Elves and the Dunlendings. Thus it might go ill for him if he were thought to be an ally of the Elves. He understood, however, that the name Aragorn son of Arathorn was not to be uttered beyond the walls of Elrond's chamber.

"I am Thorongil," he declared, choosing a Rohirric name.

The Dunlending youth looked disappointed.

"That is a name in one of the Mannish tongues. You are dressed like an Elf, and I had hoped that you were from Rivendell. Soon I am to visit there myself, but in the meanwhile, I am ever eager to hear tales of the gardens there, for I understand that they are very beautiful.

"Who are you!?" exclaimed Estel, surprised.

"I am Hyge Farmer, son of Heard."

"Hyge! I have heard Legolas speak of you!"

"Legolas?"

"I mean Anomen."

"You know Anomen?"

"Aye, we were both fostered in the household of Lord Elrond."

The two youths grinned at one another. It seemed that they had a friend in common.

"And this," continued Estel, "is my dog Gwaurant. I believe he originally came from a village hereabouts."

"My sister once sold a whelp to an elven lord—for a very fine price, too!—and the pup's markings were similar to Gwaurant's. The name means 'Dusty Gift', does it not?" 

"Aye. But how came you to understand any elvish?"

"Any traders who stop hereabouts, I make certain to learn any bits of elvish happen they know. When I visit Rivendell, I wish to be able to ask questions and to greet the lord of that place in a proper manner."

"That is wise. I do not suppose there would be any harm in telling you my elvish name, then. I am Estel."

"Estel. That means 'Hope'."

"Aye," replied Estel, impressed.

"Well, Estel, will you come with me to my home?"

Estel instantly grew cautious.

"Would I be welcome?"

"Aye. My Ma and Da are well disposed toward the Fair Folk, for we owe our good fortune to one of them. Anomen gifted us with the saplings of many fruit trees. They had been growing well, but after Anomen's latest visit, when he laid hands upon them, they began to flourish and flower and fruit prodigiously. We have sold many bushels of both apples and pears, and I mean to present several baskets to the Lord of Imladris. A trader came through bragging how he meant to palm off mealy and worm-ridden apples on the Elves by hiding them under a layer of good ones. I know I can offer better fruit than that to your kindred!"

Estel, remembering the Cook's anger at his apprentice having been tricked into buying the bad apples, assured Hyge that his fruit would be very well received indeed. Then he gladly accepted Hyge's invitation. Walking side by side, they strode toward the house, Gwaurant frisking alongside—Estel had forgiven him for failing to give warning. As they neared the house, the children stopped playing and gazed at the stranger with curiosity but no fear. The woman looked up and smiled.

"Ma, here be a guest for dinner."

"You are very welcome, sojourner. We have enough and to spare for any who wander upon this good earth."

"Thank you, Aunt."

At that moment, the Man came to the door of the shed. He held an apple in each hand.

"A visitor, Hyge?"

"Aye. And from Rivendell. His name is Estel."

The Man beamed.

"Be ye hungry, Estel? We have just brought in the finest of apples. Or mayhap you would like a pear."

"I would be grateful for an apple, Uncle."

Heard offered Estel one of the apples he held. As the boy bit into it, he thought he had never tasted one crisper, juicier, or sweeter. 

Even though better off than most families thereabouts, Hyge's people still considered themselves to be no more than humble farmers. Nevertheless, they behaved with a graciousness that would have put some lords to shame. For one thing, they forbore pressing Estel with questions until he had finished his meal—his portion was generous!—and sat at his ease before the fire sipping mulled cider—"pressed from our own apples," declared Hyge proudly.

Heard lit a pipe and after puffing silently for awhile—Estel thought longingly of Gandalf—he at last ventured a question.

"Our Hyge says ye come from Rivendell. Be that so?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"As fine a place as that, now why would a body wish to leave? And where would a body be going?"

Estel really had given little thought to where he was going, other than that he meant to travel south, for he knew a wasteland lay to the north. Now that he was forced to consider the question, he realized that he had few options, and none of those appealing. The best of the lot was to journey to Rohan and try to enter into the service of its King.

"I am going to Rohan," the boy declared. "I am going to Rohan to be a warrior."

"Your pardon, lad, but I have heard tell that the Riders of Rohan be grim and fierce and broad shouldered, whilst you be young and merry and slender. Mayhap someday you could serve as one of their horsemen, but I do not think you could do so now."

Estel colored slightly. Hyge's father was right. Even if he made it to Rohan and managed to beg an audience before its king, he would do naught but provoke merriment amongst the warriors before he was sent on his way. The best he could hope for would be that a Rider might take him on as a hauler of water and a fetcher of sticks. The closest he would get to a weapon would be to polish it. More likely, though, he would be sent to a field to dig potatoes. Much as he respected Hyge, Estel had no desire to be a farmer. He had been training with sword and bow almost since infancy, and he suddenly understood that, while he had enjoyed himself, this had been no mere recreation arranged by Elrond for his amusement. Legolas had told him that someday Elrond would reveal something about his heritage, something important, but Estel now realized that Elrond had been revealing something about that all along through the upbringing he had afforded his foster son.

Heard looked at him shrewdly and decided to press his advantage slightly.

"A Rider of Rohan needs a horse and a sword. Have ye those articles bestowed hereabouts?"

Now Estel blushed in earnest. No, he decided, he was not ready to be a warrior. For a warrior, when springing into action, would surely have remembered his weapons before all else. Estel knew that his bow and quiver still hung upon the wall of his chamber, and his sword lay in its sheath upon a chest. He had not given one thought to them before fleeing out the gates of Imladris.

"Mayhap you are right, Uncle," he said slowly.

"Ye should sleep on it, son," Heard said kindly. "Mayhap by the morrow another course altogether will have occurred to you."

Estel bade him goodnight and went to join Hyge on his pallet, which was thick and covered with a quilt as new as the walls. Long he lay awake, thinking about what he ought to do. Why, he wondered miserably, had Gwaurant attacked Celaimîr and Baramagor? And how was he to save his dog from the wrath of the Rivendell Elves? Over and over he turned these questions in his mind. At last he made a desperate resolution. He would return to Rivendell and plead for the life of Gwaurant. He was sure that the dog would never have knowingly harmed any Elf, and he would try to persuade the Elves of that.

Suddenly he had an inspiration. He had hidden Celaimîr and Baramagor's clothes in a badger hole. Ergo, the garments must have smelled of badger. Yes, that was it! Gwaurant had attacked Celaimîr and Baramagor because, as they crept toward the Hall, Gwaurant had mistaken them for marauding badgers. Surely Elrond at least could be made to see this, and mayhap others. And if not, he would beg the Lord of Imadris to permit him to try to turn Gwaurant into a wolf, one who would run with a pack and never venture into Rivendell. Perhaps, the boy thought wistfully, he would sometimes catch sight of his former pet as he ranged through the woods.

But what if he should fail to persuade Elrond and the others that Gwaurant should be readmitted to Rivendell or at least be allowed to dwell in its vicinity? Would he not have led Gwaurant to his death? No, he decided. He could see that Gwaurant and Hyge had taken to one another. If Elrond would permit Gwaurant to remain neither in nor near Rivendell, he would beg leave to convey the dog to Dunland, where such a dog as he would be valued for his prowess in defending kith and kin. Elrond would see no creature killed unnecessarily. If Estel could find a place of exile for Gwaurant, Elrond would approve. It would hurt to leave his dog with Hyge, but better that than to see him slain. 

Estel was not altogether happy with his options, but they were realistic ones. He needed to return to Rivendell, and he needed to secure Gwaurant's safety. He was sure that he could do both, although perhaps at the cost of some sorrow to himself.

The next morning Estel announced that he and Gwaurant would be returning to Rivendell. Heard nodded understandingly.

"That would be wise, I think. Ye would have been welcome to stay here—ye and your hound both—but I've no doubt there be folk who lament your absence and long for your presence. Ye should return to them. As goodly a lad as ye are, ye must come from goodly folk, else ye would not have been brought up so well. Go and make your peace with them."

Estel smiled, reassured both to be reminded of the 'goodly folk' who awaited him and to learn that Heard was favorably disposed to Gwaurant. That allowed him to believe that, should the worst happen and Gwaurant not be allowed to remain in Imladris, there would indeed be those who would welcome the dog.

"Ye must let Hyge walk with you a ways. There be some about who dislike Elves. Too fearful to trifle with an actual Elf they be, but spiteful and mean-spirited enough to harm a man-child in elvish garb, no doubt."

Estel gladly accepted Heard's offer, and soon he and the Dunland youth were tromping merrily through the woods, with Gwaurant either trotting on ahead or ranging to either side to smell at particularly interesting spots alongside the trail. They talked of many subjects as they walked, but at last Estel came round to asking about something that had puzzled him ever since Hyge had taken him by surprise the evening before.

"Hyge, I do not have elven hearing, but I have been carefully trained to make the most of all my senses. There are many Elves who can not now creep up on me, but you did so yesterday. How did you manage?"

Hyge grinned.

"All Dunland children practice stealing softly through wood and bush from the time they can walk. We work very hard at it, and some become quite proficient. I am numbered amongst those."

"Are you a hunter, then?"

"Aye, but not of game."

Estel was puzzled.

"Then what do you hunt?"

"Dunland children trail all who journey through this land."

"Why?" 

Hyge looked perplexed at the question.

"Do not the Elves send out scouts to keep watch on any that enter their territory?"

"Aye, but they do not use elflings for that purpose."

"They do not need to! They are Elves! It is said that no matter how old an Elf is, he will still move more quietly than the lightest, most agile of man-children."

Estel had to concede that, seen in that light, the Dunland practice of using children as scouts made good sense.

"Besides," added Hyge, "even if the adults didn't want to use the children as scouts, they'd go out anyway, the pickings are that good."

"The pickings?"

"Aye. Travelers misplace objects all the time. We retrieve such things, but, alas, usually it is difficult to match the found objects with the lost owners. Pity it is that in such cases there is naught to do but keep them."

"Oh, yes, a pity indeed," replied Estel, laughing.

"Some travelers," continued Hyge, "do not take good care of their tools or kit. When we see that, why, we relieve them of the trouble."

"The next time I am in your land," exclaimed Estel, "I shall take especial care to keep my belongings in sight!"

"You do that," declared Hyge. And then, with a smile and a wink, he handed Estel his elven blade before disappearing into some bushes.

Duumbfounded, his mouth hanging open, Estel stared after the clever young Dunlending. Then, grinning and shaking his head, he slipped his returned knife into his belt.

"I am glad Hyge has chosen to be a farmer," he said to himself, "else no trader would be safe!"

Whistling to Gwaurant, Estel began to walk briskly northward. The day was a fine one, the sky clear and a deep blue but the sun not too hot. In spite of the fact that Estel would soon have to face Elrond and argue for the life of his dog, he could not help but grow happier with every step he took. He was not much of a singer, but so giddy he became that at length he was on the verge of breaking into song. Fortunately, before he could do so, he noticed that Gwaurant, who had trotted on ahead, had come to a stop, his hackles rising, a low growl in his throat. Estel hastened to his side and bade him be still. Together the two of them began to worm their way forward, Estel with his knife in hand. Mayhap, thought Estel grimly, this was not to be such a fine day after all.


	3. Dessert For Wolves?

While Estel had been breaking fast in the company of Heard and his family, Erestor was finding that it did not require much skill for him to stay on the trail of the southern pack, so obvious it was. Cheerfully he rode onward. Suddenly, however, his horse shied from side to side and refused to go forward, no matter how Erestor urged him. At length Erestor gave up and dismounted. They were in a stand of trees, and he did not know what lay beyond. Drawing his sword, he cautiously stole forward until he could see what had spooked his horse. Wolves.

The wolves lay sunning in the warm sunlight, their tongues lolling. Apparently Erestor was of no interest to them, for only a few briefly looked at him, raising their muzzles from where they rested upon their forepaws, then lazily dropping their heads back into their former positions. Erestor lowered his sword but did not sheath it. Anxiously, he looked about the meadow. He saw no sign of either Estel or Gwaurant. Had he been wrong? Had Estel indeed gone west? Or mayhap this was a local pack of wolves, and Estel and his companions had gone on further, past this meadow. Or, if this was the right pack, might not Estel and Gwaurant have journeyed on alone?

Erestor edged around the clearing, looking all the while for any sign of Estel. When he arrived on the far side of the meadow, he was rewarded by the sight of a smallish boot print beside a stream, alongside the paw prints of a dog. "Ah," he thought smugly, "I was right! Estel is heading south. Poor Glorfindel, on a fool's errand to Bree!"

Erestor's gloating was soon tempered, however, by the fact that it was no longer so easy to track the lad. When the wolf pack had accompanied Estel and Gwaurant, the trail had been wide and clearly marked. Now the going would be slower. On Erestor trudged, his head bowed as he carefully scanned the ground for the signs marking the passage of boy and dog. Even had he not left behind his horse, he could not have ridden, for he had not the skill to spot the necessary subtle signs from horseback. Still, he wished he had his horse, if only for the company. He was in a darkish wood, and the sounds coming from all sides were eerie—croaking and crackling, squealing and snapping. Suddenly Erestor heard the oddest sound of all, given his surroundings—the clearing of a throat. He jumped and spun about looking for the source of the sound. There stood an agéd man, bearded and cloaked.

"Ah, Lord Saruman," Erestor exhaled with relief. "It is good to see a friendly face."

Saruman surveyed him, smiling sardonically.

"I had not thought that you were one to wander past the door of a library. What do you here?"

"I am trying to recover one of Elrond's fosterlings who has gone astray. Mayhap you have come across him. He is a little Man, a lad of ten."

"A human?"

"Yes," babbled Erestor, "a human, but not bad for all that. Grubby and mischievous, but good-hearted. He would be traveling with a dog but has lately been in the company of several wolves."

"Unusual companions," observed Saruman.

"Yes, but he is an unusual boy."

"Pray, tell me more."

Suddenly Erestor realized that he had been speaking rather too openly. He was pledged to reveal no more about Estel than absolutely necessary. He knew of no especial reason why he should not trust Saruman, but he also knew of no reason why he should freely reveal any particulars about Estel to the wizard.

"Oh," the tutor said with assumed casualness, "he is of course unusual because he has been raised by Elves. His father had the misfortune to be slain whilst upon a journey—I am not sure of the details—and so, even though the child was a human, Elrond pitied him and took him in."

"How extremely generous of the Lord of Imladris," said Saruman sarcastically.

"Um, I suppose that Elrond being half-human himself, he could see the good in the lad."

"Still, very open-minded of him, I am sure."

"Yes," agreed Erestor, who, if _he_ had been human, would have been sweating. He recalled that Legolas did not like Saruman, and he was beginning to understand why. The Istar had eyes that put Erestor in mind of a bird of prey, and, with his sharp, hooked nose and his long, curved fingernails—talons, almost!—the Istar rather looked as if he were preparing to pounce as a hawk does upon a mouse.

"What is the name of this small human?"

"Estel."

"Estel? That is an elvish name. What was he called before he entered the household of the Peredhil?"

"That name has been forgotten, I suppose," answered Erestor. He was only being a trifle deceitful in his reply, for it was rare that anyone thought of Estel as Aragorn son of Arathorn. "In any event, it does not seem that you have seen him, so I should resume my search. Good-day to you!"

Erestor cautiously edged past Saruman and hastened on his way. As for the wizard, he had much to think about.

"Estel," he mused. "Estel. Was that not the name of the ragtag urchin who was dangling at the tail of Legolas a few years back? It seems that the brat must be dear to the Elves, for it appears that they are willing to go to a great deal of trouble on his behalf. I wonder what motivates them to take such assiduous care of a worthless waif—unless he is not worthless. But of what value would a man-child be to an Elf? Even a half-elven such as Elrond has powers far superior to the greatest of humans—although nowhere near those of an Istar, of course. There is some mystery here needs solving, and I deem that Erestor has not told as much as he could about the matter. He must be encouraged to speak more freely and at greater length."

Saruman made a peremptory gesture, and two half-goblins came slinking out of the woods.

"Capture and bind that Elf whom I lately spoke with. See that you secure him to a tree!"

Too often had Saruman's prisoners given their captors the slip. This time he would be sure of his victim.

"After you have bound him, force him to drink this potion."

Saruman handed the larger of the half-goblins a stoppered flask.

"When the potion has taken effect, come and fetch me. Take care that you do not summon me too soon, for I do not wish him to remember who it was questioned him."

The two half-goblins scuttled away on the trail of the tutor, taking care to move as quietly as they could. Quiet as they were, however, Erestor's encounter with Saruman had made him more than usually vigilant. Who or what else, he wondered, might suddenly spring up from the forest floor. And if someone or something else was out there, mayhap it would have weapons even keener than the words of a sharp-tongued wizard. Erestor had replaced his sword in its sheath after leaving the wolves behind, but now he drew it forth once again. Soon he heard the snapping of a twig. Had a deer trodden on a branch? Silence for a time. Suddenly Erestor realized that it was too quiet. He heard no birds, no squirrels, none of small rustling noises that out to mark the passage of tiny woodland creatures. Then he saw them: two half-goblins, scimitars raised.

Erestor dove for the nearest large tree. Reaching it, he whirled about to face his foes, the trunk of the tree protecting his back. It was true, as Saruman had gibed, that Erestor spent most of his waking hours in the library, but that did not mean that his arm had lost all memory of thrusting and parrying. Before too long, he succeeded in driving his sword under the guard of the smaller of the half-goblins, who let out a howl and leaped back, nursing a badly slashed arm. His remaining foe let out a growl and stepped back slightly. Grinning fiendishly, this second half-goblin drew a knife from his belt and balanced it on his hand. He nodded at his companion, who left off moaning and likewise drew a blade. At a signal from the larger half-goblin, each threw his knife at one of Erestor's legs. The Elf used his sword to knock aside one of the blades, but the other hit home. Erestor gave a gasp of pain but immediately raised his sword to ward off the larger half-goblin who, emboldened, now drew near again.

"Yield, pointy-ear," he snarled, "unless ye want us to carve off those pretty little tips of yers. Hey," he addressed his companion, "wouldn't 'e look better with round ears? Look like a regular filthy human, 'e would."

"Have to chop off his hair, too."

"Aye, we kin do that," sneered the leader, raising his scimitar menacingly. "Probably some other parts we kin chop off as well without makin' 'im any less useful—toes, fingers, dangly bits.

His companion chortled in a hideous fashion and likewise raised his sword. Their ugly threats, however, only strengthened Erestor in his resolve not to yield. Better to die fighting than to afford merriment to his tormenters. Or at least better to be severely injured so that he would shortly perish rather than linger in captivity. But he would try to leave behind his mark on the bodies of his enemies.

The half-goblins were in no hurry now that Erestor was injured. They knew time was on their side, for the Elf could only grow weaker. Almost casually, they took turns swinging their weapons s at Erestor. The first few times, he merely parried their blows, and it seemed to the half-goblins that this was a most entertaining way to spend an afternoon. They were mistaken in their complacency, however. Suddenly, as the leader feinted at Erestor, the Elf knocked aside his scimitar and gave him an injury to match his companion's.

"Heh heh heh," laughed the smaller of the two half-goblins. "Heh heh—aah!"

The leader whacked his companion's head with the flat of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Standing over the smaller half-goblin, he snarled, "I didn' laugh when 'e cut _you_."

"Sorry," muttered the felled goblin. "No sense o' humor," he added under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothin'! 'Twarn't nothin'."

The smaller goblin staggered up and stared balefully at Erestor, who was leaning against the tree as relaxed as if he were the spectator at a pageant.

"I'm tired o' this," announced the leader. "Getting' on toward the noon meal, it is. Let's finish the job."

The two half-goblins both raised their scimitars and began to simultaneously swing at Erestor with all their might. For all his nonchalance, Erestor was very weak by now, and after a few fearsome blows from his enemies, his sword was knocked aside. He tried to draw his knife, but no sooner had he lost his sword than the lead half-goblin leaped forward and seized his wrists, forcing his arms back and pinning him against the tree.

"The rope," gasped the leader. "Bring me the rope."

"We hain't got no rope," replied his companion.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Erestor would have laughed. As it was, he took advantage of the confusion to abruptly jerk up his uninjured leg so that his knee was driven with all his strength into his foe's vital bits. The half-goblin let out a screech as high-pitched as that of a ringwraith and collapsed to the ground, doubled up in agony. Momentarily free, Erestor sprang for a branch. Seizing it, he tried to pull himself into the tree, but the other half-goblin seized hold of his injured leg and yanked. With a cry of pain, Erestor lost his grip and fell. At least he had the satisfaction of landing upon his foe, who yelped as the Elf's elbow was driven into his eye. Erestor rolled off the half-goblin and crawled toward some brambles. Before he could reach them, however, the smaller half-goblin had recovered sufficiently to scramble after him, and he once again brutally yanked Erestor back by his injured leg. The Elf fainted.

When Erestor regained consciousness, he found himself sitting against the tree. His arms had been drawn back around the truck and tied at the wrist. His cloak lay before him shredded, so he knew that the half-goblins had solved their rope problem. Said goblins stood before him glowering. The eye of the smaller one was swollen completely shut. As for the leader, he stood slightly hunched over, a pained expression upon his face. With an effort, Erestor hid his smirk.

"Elf-rat is finally awake," snarled the leader. "Now we kin give 'im the potion an' be done with 'im."

"Hain't we gonna play with 'im? You know, carve his ears, an' sich like."

"Nah. Leastways not now. Mebbe later. 'Ere, you hold his chin and pinch his nostrils shut. He'll have to open his mouth then, and I'll pour this stuff down his gullet."

The smaller half-goblin did as he was bidden, capturing Erestor's chin and holding it tightly, then pinching his nose. Holding the flask, its stopper removed, the leader stood expectantly, waiting until the moment when Erestor would be forced to take a breath of air. He waited and he waited and he waited. Erestor's eyes glazed over, as if he had gone into a trance. In fact, that is exactly what Erestor had done, his heart and breathing slowing so that he would need much less oxygen. Eventually, however, even an entranced Elf must breathe, and as soon as Erestor opened his mouth slightly, the half-goblin stuck his filthy fingers in and forced his mouth open as wide as it would go, pouring the vile concoction down his throat. The half-goblin drew out his fingers and ordered his underling to push the Elf's mouth closed and hold it shut until he'd swallowed the noxious stuff. Foaming at the mouth, Erestor gagged and choked. Suddenly his eyes closed, and his head fell forward.

"Hah!" crowed the leader. "That's done for him. Now I'll carry the news to the master."

"Why can't I tell 'im?" whined his companion.

"Cause I'm bigger than you, and I'll sew yer mouth shut if you give me any lip."

"Oh."

This explanation seemed to satisfy the smaller of the half-goblins, who immediately plunked himself down and began picking at the dried blood on his injured arm. As for his larger companion, he drew himself as erect as he could, wincing a little, and then marched away in search of their master.

Left to his own devices, the smaller half-goblin picked at his wound for awhile. Finally tiring of that amusement, he rolled himself in the remnants of Erestor's cloak and fell asleep. He did not notice that a black liquid was trickling from the sides of Erestor's mouth. Once the half-goblin had begun to snore, Erestor raised his head, opened his eyes, and spat out the rest of potion.

"Paw!" he gasped. "Fouler than Legolas' cake," he muttered. Never thought I'd find myself saying that!"

He had swallowed some of the liquid, so he felt dizzy and ill, but not enough to lose the use of his wits. He began to try his bonds. They were tight, but he thought that by flexing his hands repeatedly, he might be able to stretch them enough so that he would be able to slip free eventually. He hoped that his guard would sleep long.

He worked at freeing himself for some time and began to rue the quality of the yarn out of which his cloak had been woven.

"Wish I had been wearing a Dunland cloak—would be loose by now," he grunted.

At that moment he heard a growl. He raised his head and looked about anxiously. The growl sounded as if it had been made by a large animal—a wolf perhaps. The growl was repeated, and a twig snapped. Suddenly Erestor wished that his guard was awake.

"A wolf would gladly dine upon that fellow—but then I would become dessert!"

The Elf saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He tensed, then relaxed.

"Gwaurant," he whispered. "Do you suppose I could trouble you to gnaw through these bonds? I know that you were able to chew through my boot strings when I tied you to a sapling—you have forgiven me for that, have you not?"

"A knife would work better, I think," said a soft voice.

Erestor looked up, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Estel," he gasped. "What are you doing here?" 

"Rescuing you," the boy said calmly.

He knelt beside the sleeping half-goblin. He took a deep breathe, but he hesitated only a moment before slitting the creature's throat. Estel turned a trifle pale as the blade sliced through his enemy's flesh, but the boy did not cry, and he quickly recovered, moving around behind the tree and slicing the bonds that secured his tutor. He helped Erestor stretch his cramped legs, and then he cut some strips from the ruined cloak to bind the wound in his leg.

"Erestor, I see by the tracks hereabouts that you were attacked by more than one."

"Yes, and the second has gone to fetch another."

"I know you are wounded, but we must leave this place."

"That had occurred to me," Erestor replied dryly. "Can you bear my weight upon your shoulder? My horse is back yonder, just on the other side of a clearing where a wolf pack takes its ease. If you can help me that far, I will be mounted and we shall be able to journey as quickly as you are able to walk _sans _the encumbrance of an injured tutor."

"Under those circumstances, I can walk very quickly indeed," replied Estel.

He rooted about and found a sturdy stick, and then he helped Erestor to arise. Clutching the stick in one hand and with his opposite arm around Estel's shoulder, Erestor was able to move with reasonable rapidity. Soon they had left the slain half-goblin far behind and were entering the clearing. The wolves still lay about, and this time they completely ignored Erestor, who, as he was in the company of Estel, was even less of a potential dinner than he had been before. As for Gwaurant, he was an old friend.

Upon regaining the side of his steed, Erestor gladly accepted Estel's aid in mounting him, and boy, horse, and dog began to trot with all possible speed toward the north while Erestor gratefully allowed himself to drift into elven dreams, his eyes open but unfocused. As for Saruman, at that moment he was arriving at the scene of the struggle between Erestor and the half-goblins, where, to his dismay, he saw that once again a target of his malevolence had succeeded in escaping. As he glanced unconcernedly at the body of his erstwhile servant he saw that the creature's throat had been cleanly cut. He also saw that a sharp knife had been used to slice through the bonds that had secured Erestor to the tree. It was clear at once what had happened. Erestor hadn't found his Estel, but the brat had found _him_. If it were all possible, Saruman now began to hate the little human even more than he hated that Elf Legolas.

As Saruman perused the scene, the surviving half-goblin eyed him uneasily. He knew very well what generally happened to servants who failed the Istar of Isengard. Saruman, however, had hopes of recapturing Erestor, for he did not know that the Elf's horse had not been far off. The half-goblin's life was therefore safe for the time being because the wizard thought he could make use of him. Together, wizard and half-goblin set out in pursuit of Erestor and his rescuer. As both master and servant were uninjured, they moved rapidly through the forest until they, too, approached the clearing.

It was near dusk by now, and the wolves were rousing themselves. Saruman, in his eagerness, preceded the half-goblin into the clearing but came to a sudden stop with an exclamation of dismay when he saw the wolf pack. These were not his creatures, he knew. As one, the wolves sprang to their feet, their hackles rising, growls in their throats. They spread out as, their bodies tense, they began to slink across the clearing, their eyes fixed upon the wizard. Just then the half-goblin blundered into Saruman from behind. The wizard whirled about, seized his servant, and pushed him forward into the clearing. Caught off balance, the half-goblin fell, twisting an ankle as he did so. Dazed, he looked behind him. The wizard had vanished. Then he looked forward, and he both trembled and sweated, his eyes dilated with fear. From three sides wolves advanced upon him.

Within a few days Saruman returned to Isengard from his latest errand. As for his companion, he was never seen again.


	4. Revelations

            Estel, Erestor, and Gwaurant were now within an easy ride of Rivendell, and Erestor had regained consciousness.  His leg still hurt, but he no longer felt sick and dizzy.  Apparently the effects of the noxious liquid that he had been forced to drink had completely worn off.  He rode comfortably upon his horse, cheerful and at ease.  Noticing the tutor's relaxed expression, Estel decided that this was the moment to try and recruit him in his campaign to save the life of Gwaurant.

            "Erestor, when I was stealing toward you back there, I heard you speaking in a very friendly fashion to Gwaurant.  You don't dislike him any more, do you?"

            Erestor had to concede that he did not.

            "And Erestor, did you notice that the wolves did not trouble us as we passed by?  They are not really vicious creatures, you know—and neither is Gwaurant.  Wolves do not attack without reason—and neither does Gwaurant."

            "Ah," said Erestor, "you are no doubt worrying over the events that took place the night you and Gwaurant ran away."

            "Yes, Erestor," said Estel soberly.  "I saw the Gardener carrying Baramagor and Celaimîr's clothes into the Hall."

            "Well, Estel, I have good news for you.  Baramagor and Celaimîr survived their little adventure."

            "They did!?  Oh, Erestor, since Baramagor and Celaimîr survived, do you think there is a chance that Gwaurant will be allowed to return to Rivendell!?"

            "I'll tell you what, my lad," said Erestor grandly, "as soon as we are back at the Hall, I will go straight to Elrond and tell him that Gwaurant is quite a remarkable dog and ought to be readmitted into the company of Elves."

            "Will you, Erestor!?" exclaimed Estel.  "I'll be ever so grateful, and I'll behave well at lessons, and I'll do anything you want, I will!  Oh, Erestor, you're ever so kind—I'm sorry for every trick I've ever played on you, and I will warn you the next time Elladan and Elrohir have anything planned!" 

            Erestor waved his hand dismissively.

            "Think nothing of it, Estel.  'Tis my nature to perform noble deeds.           If you wish, you may requite me in some fashion, but I do not insist upon it."

            Of course, upon this further evidence of the Elf's kindness and generosity, the boy redoubled his efforts to assure the tutor of the depth of his gratitude, and in this friendly fashion they journeyed on.

            While Erestor was impressing Estel with his magnanimity, Glorfindel the balrog-slayer was making his way westward under much less pleasant circumstances.  He had had no trouble tracking his chosen wolf pack, and, at first, the going had been easy enough.  The pack had stayed well to the north of the Great East Road, but the ground had been dry and reasonably level, so Glorfindel was not troubled to find himself traveling through wasteland.  At length, however, the wolves had passed by Weathertop and so had come to a place that Glorfindel dreaded above all—the Midgewater Marshes.  Now he stood at the verge of the swampy land, bemoaning his ill fortune.

            "I'd rather these wretched curs had led me to Mount Doom," muttered Glorfindel, gloomily surveying the broken and soggy landscape.  "Probably the midges have not forgotten my taste, so freely did they dine upon me the last time I ventured into that mire."

            But the balrog-slayer knew (or thought he did, anyway) that if he were to recover Estel he would have to venture into that dreadful slough.  Resolute, he released his horse to graze in the shadow of Weathertop—his steed would have done him no good on the paths that he needs must follow—and on foot he began to slog his way through the marsh.  As he had expected, he was soon being swarmed by voracious midges, and he almost did himself an injury as he slapped at his own face in a futile effort to drive away the blood-thirsty insects.  At length, however, he resigned himself to his fate and ceased flailing, merely trudging on, head down, searching for any sign that would reveal which path the wolves had taken through the bewildering maze in which he found himself.  Ai!  So soggy was the ground that any marks left by the wolves must have quickly filled, so Glorfindel had no choice but to try each path in turn.  As luck would have it, each trail led to a dead end in the center of the marsh.  It was of course the very last path that he tried that proved to be the correct one.

            As Glorfindel emerged at last from the watery labyrinth in which he had struggled for days, the Elf's spirits soared—and then plummeted.  For on the other side of the first dry knoll he breasted, there lay the wolves, sunning themselves—and Estel was nowhere to be seen. 

            Stunned, he stood for awhile staring at the pack.  At last he roused himself.

            "No doubt," he said bravely, "Estel has gone on to Bree-land, and the pack was not willing to venture so near to settled lands.  I shall have to circle around and pick up his tracks.  I will certainly find them somewhere on the far side of yonder wolves."

            And so he carefully circled around the pack, watching intently for the marks of a small boot.  The ground was soft, so it should have been easy to find some trace of the boy.  There was none.  Back and forth Glorfindel went, refusing to believe that there was no sign of a small human.  At last, however, he had to admit the truth: Estel had not made it through the marsh.  The Elf turned and gazed back in disbelief in the direction of the swamp that he had just traversed.

            "Estel," he said softly.  "Estel."

            He could see how it had happened.  A small boy who had walked for days, exhausted, probably hungry, attempting a perilous passage through a morass that had claimed many a Man.  One misplaced step and the child would have found himself desperately clutching at slimy weeds that would have slipped through his hands no matter how tightly he tried to grip them.  There was no sign of Gwaurant.  No doubt the dog had blundered in as well in a futile effort to rescue his little human.

            Glorfindel cried.  He knew that much had depended upon the lad, the last of the line of the kings of Gondor, and he would have been sorry for that fact alone.  But what mattered more to him was that he was genuinely fond of the boy.  True, Estel had caused all the Elves much grief, but in the eyes of Glorfindel the lad had always repaid many times over every ounce of trouble and care that he had cost his guardians.  He had been brave and honest, kind and compassionate.  He should not have died so, struggling against a mire that would have inexorably pulled him down the harder he had fought to save himself.  It had been altogether a dreadful end, and he had faced it alone save for Gwaurant.

At length Glorfindel became aware that the wolves had come up and gathered around him.  They sat on their haunches and gazed at him expectantly, as if waiting for a sign from him.

"Yes," he said mournfully.  "I know 'tis necessary to return to Imladris, to carry this sad news to Elrond.  He will be heartbroken, all the more so as Estel was his kin, descended from Elros, who is no more.  First Elrond lost Elros, then Celebrian, and now Estel.  I only hope that in his despair he does not at once depart for the Grey Havens."

The wolves arose and trotted toward the Midgewater Marshes, and numbly Glorfindel followed them.  They made their way unerringly through that swamp, and Glorfindel soon found himself on the other side.  He summoned his horse and then once more gave way to his grief, relying upon the horse to find the way to Imladris, a task that the stallion found easy, for he had been this way once before in the company of Glorfindel and Legolas.

Several days later, Glorfindel rode wearily through the gates of Rivendell.  He dismounted and bade his horse go to the stable, trusting that a hostler would see to the steed.  Then he made his way to the garden, for he wished to walk a little and think on the words that he ought best use to break the sad tidings to Elrond.  To his surprise, as he entered the garden, he spied Erestor lounging upon a bench of cut turves, a bandaged leg propped upon a footstool.  Glorfindel slipped behind the statue of Gil-galad.  He did not wish to speak to anyone just yet.  Moreover, Erestor looked exceptionally happy, and Glorfindel was loath to visit grief upon him.  He knew that Erestor, too, had been fond of Estel, even though he was as careful to hide his feelings as he had always been in the case of Legolas.

As Glorfindel stood hidden behind the statue, he thought he heard a child laughing and a dog barking.

"I have gone far too long without sleep," he muttered to himself.  "Aye, and without food and drink.  My ears begins to play tricks upon me—as do my eyes!" he added, briskly shaking his head to clear it of the apparition of a boy who scampered across the garden, dog trotting at his heels.   

            As he watched in disbelief, boy and dog hurried across the garden toward Erestor, who beamed at them.  The boy carried a platter upon which sat a plate and a goblet. 

            "Erester," called the boy, "the Cook himself prepared this dish especially for you.  It is venison dressed in a fine sauce, with the finest of wheaten cakes.  And the wine is Dorwinion, from Elrond's private stock.  He says that you may have as much as you like."

            Carefully the boy laid the platter beside Erestor upon the turf bench. 

            "Is there anything else you need, Erestor?"

            "Not at the moment, Estel.  Although there is a book that I will want later, after I have dined.  It is the volume bound in red that sits atop the first bookcase to the left as you enter the library."

            "I will fetch it for you straightaway," declared Estel, "so that you do not have to wait for it when you desire to read it."

            "Thank you, Estel.  That is very thoughtful of you."

            "Oh," said the boy fervently, "'tis nothing to the kindness you have shown me—and Gwaurant, too, of course."

            With that off ran boy and dog.  When they were out of sight, Glorfindel came forward.

"How is it," he growled to a grinning Erestor, "that Estel has become your skivvy?"

"Why, Glorfindel, you speak as if I did not warrant such treatment.  In truth, Estel serves me because he has come to recognize my high merit."

"Merit," snorted Glorfindel.  "Hah!"

"Glorfindel, it so happens that _I _am the one who returned from the wild with Estel.  Had to fight a couple of nasty goblins in the process and suffered a grievous wound to my limb.  No doubt it will be days before I can do without the assistance of my faithful apprentice."

"_Your_ Apprentice!  I am training him as a warrior!"

"_Were_ training him as a warrior, Glorfindel," Erestor replied smugly.  "Estel has lately come to greatly appreciate the talents of those who are steeped in the lore of ages.  Swinging a sword is all very well, but there is something to be said for, ahem, wisdom."

Glorfindel was grinding his teeth, casting about in a rage for a cutting reply that would not require the use of a sword, when Estel reappeared, dog still at his heels.  He was sauntering this time, and he carried no book.

"What is the matter, Estel?" asked Erestor.  "Could you not find the volume?"

"I am sure I _could_ find it if I _would_," replied Estel carelessly, "but I won't."

"What do you mean?" said Erestor, puzzled.  "Is this a riddle?"

"I was in the corridor next the library," said Estel, "when I encountered Celaimîr."

Erestor looked a little worried.

"Ye-es?" said the tutor.

"Of course," continued Estel, "I at once began to apologize for Gwaurant's behavior, but she said no harm had been done—_as she hadn't been wearing the clothes when Gwaurant chewed them!"_

"And," the boy added, "Celaimîr said that Baramagor hadn't been wearing _his_, either."

"Oh," said Erestor.  Now he looked a little sick.

Estel was not done yet.

"She also said everyone knew the truth of the matter before the evening was out.  _Everyone_," he emphasized, giving Erestor an injured look.

Glorfindel spoke then.

"For shame," he said sternly.  "For shame, Erestor, taking advantage of the love of a poor little child for his faithful dog, a love which drove him to fly into the wild, there to be subject to fear and foes, thirst and hunger."

This may have been piling it on a little thick, but Erestor had the grace to look thoroughly ashamed.

Glorfindel turned to Estel.

"As I have been absent for several days, I need to check on the status of the patrols.  How would you like to accompany me on a tour of the borders for, oh, say a fortnight?"

"May I!?" cried Estel, his face aglow.  "And may Gwaurant come, too?"

"Of course, my lad.  Of course.  I've no doubt your dog could become an excellent tracker and guard dog, given the proper training.  We will commence at once.'

"But Estel cannot absent himself from Rivendell for so long," objected Erestor.  "He will fall behind in his studies."

Glorfindel assumed a solicitous expression.

"But, Erestor, as you are _so_ grievously wounded, surely you will not be up to tutoring the lad for at _least_ a fortnight, mayhap longer.  Estel and I will go straight to Elrond and ask his leave.  You needn't worry; I am sure he will have no objection."

With that, Glorfindel turned and strode away, Estel at his heels, and Gwaurant at _his_.  Foiled, Erestor sat fuming.  He should have liked to have sprung up and hastened to Elrond ahead of them, but, as he was supposed to be an invalid, he couldn't very well do so.

As for Glorfindel, he chuckled as he made his way to Elrond's chamber.

"Estel," he said to his young apprentice, "be sure to ask Erestor someday the meaning of the phrase "hoist by his own petard."

"Hoist by his own petard," said Estel, puzzled.  "Whatever does that have to do with anything?"

"It's a Mannish phrase," replied Glorfindel.  "It is used when someone is betrayed by one of his own devices."

"Ah," said Estel wisely, "I understand then.  I do not believe that I will need to ask Erestor to explain matters."

"Oh, but you must," Glorfindel urged him, "not for your edification but for _his_.  Sometimes the master must become the pupil."

With that the Elf reached out and tousled Estel's hair.  Certainly Estel did not _need_ to have his hair tousled, but for once Glorfindel wanted to indulge himself in a gesture that revealed the tenderness that lay behind a balrog-slayer's fierce exterior.  And so this odd pair—nay, trio, for Gwaurant must not be forgotten—merrily announced itself at Elrond's chamber, where they sought and were granted permission to depart on the morrow for a tour of inspection—a tour that was only intended to last a fortnight, mind you, and if it is found that in the end it took longer, pray do not try to fix the blame upon _me_!


End file.
